A Madness Most Discreet
by Draft Distro
Summary: A tragic loss makes Malcolm relive his academy days, and confront demons thought long buried.


_Bridge, NX-01 Enterprise_

_February, 2158_

Slowly, the tide was turning.

As difficult as the Romulan War had been for Earth and her allies in the Coalition, the Starfleet was gradually making headway. The front had moved further from Earth and closer to Romulus (at least where Starfleet tacticians believed it to be), and with the Vulcans finally entering the war it seemed an end was in sight.

However, it was not over yet.

_Enterprise_ was holding warp factor one, patrolling the edge of the Galorndon Core system. A joint Earth and Tellarite offensive had recently captured the system only to find the planet there barely habitable. The location of the K-type star system was strategically important though, and while _Enterprise_ patrolled the planer perimeter, the Tellarite battlecruiser _Surly _patrolled the angular ecliptic.

Ship time, it was 0145. Malcolm Reed sat in the center seat. He had recently taken a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and was Gamma shift leader when not engaged in combat operations. The night suited Malcolm well, and indeed most of the crewmembers who manned the bridge on third shift were private people, more interested in their instruments than the company on the bridge. Malcolm would occupy himself with war reports from around the conflict, and made it a hobby to determine where he believed the Romulans would attempt a strike next. Vulcan scientists' defeat of the Romulan invisibility screen meant their distant movements could be tracked. If they wanted to hide they were going to have to do better than just bending visible light.

Reed was about to ask for a status report from the sensor station when Crewman Byrne at communications spoke up.

"Sir, we have an incoming transmission on the Coalition emergency frequency. It's a bit broken, but I think I can clean it up."

Malcolm slid the reading PADD into the slot Captain Archer had wisely had engineering build into the command chair, just before Trip…well, whatever had happened to Trip had happened. "On screen if you can."

The star-view on the main screen gave way to a static filled scene of chaos. Fire and smoke was visible, and the details showed it was indeed an Earth ship's bridge. Between flashes of interference, crewmembers could be seen slumped over consoles or lying on decks. One still worked the helm and one sat in the center seat. It was the latter who spoke.

"This is Commander Watts of the _Soweto. _We have been ambushed by Romulan ships, and we think they nuked us. Any Coalition vessel, please respond!"

Malcolm felt cold inside. Commander Watts. Commander Dennis M. Watts. Unbidden memories threatened to sweep over him, but he maintained control.

"Hamby," he said to the young, dark-skinned woman at science, "where are they?"

She worked for a moment, then, "Sir, I have a positive identification of the _Soweto _in the Miridian system as last known location. That's from a position check approximately seven hours old. No other Coalition ships in that system."

Malcolm looked to Byrne, and did not have to voice his question. Byrne answered, "Miridian is consistent with the origin signal of this transmission." Malcolm then looked to the helm where Lieutenant Al-Batani responded, also without prompt. Malcolm had to admit he took pride in how his shift worked as a team, despite their anti-social tendencies.

"At maximum warp we can reach them in approximately 19 hours," Al-Batani reported.

Malcolm nodded. "Set course, and engage as soon as engineering reports ready. Byrne, send a report to the _Surly_ and raise the _Soweto." _Byrne worked for a moment, and Commander Watts on screen responded.

"This is _Soweto, _can you help us? Please respond!"

Malcolm spoke. "This is Lt. Commander Reed of _Enterprise._ We are 19 hours away and en route to assist. Acknowledge."

On screen, Cmdr. Watts looked surprised, and perhaps smiled. "Malcolm? Oh, Gods, Malcolm…we're in bad shape. We may be looking at seventy percent casualties and I think the whole damn ship is radioactive. Please help us. Malcolm, help me."

If anyone on the bridge noticed the way Malcolm clenched his jaw before responding, they did not mention it. "We are coming _Soweto;_ stand firm. _Enterprise _out." The screen returned to an external view, shifting now to high warp.

"Al-Batani," Malcolm said, standing. "You have the bridge, I am going to brief the Captain." Malcolm went to the turbolift.

"Commander Reed, you do realize you may be sending us into a trap. The Romulans are known for subterfuge. This could be a hoax to drag us in." Malcolm stood in Captain Archer's quarters, while Archer, dressed in his robe sat at his desk. Malcolm, despite his promotion in both rank and position, had never become comfortable addressing superiors and stood stiffly as if he were an Ensign being dressed down.

"Captain, I have…history with Commander Watts, and I am convinced it was him. The _Soweto_ is in danger, and there's not another Coalition ship closer."

Archer turned to the terminal on his desk and pulled up the sensor logs and current readings. While he scanned them, a light snore came from across the room where the Captain's beagle Porthos was sprawled across the bed. The canine was older for a beagle and not as spry as he had been in the earlier days of _Enterprise's _mission. For some time, Malcolm had been uncomfortable with the animal's presence, but the years had softened his stance toward Porthos far more than his stance toward military decorum.

Archer spoke, breaking Malcolm's reverie. "Alright, Malcolm. But I want the MACOs and all security personnel drilled before we arrive so we are set in case this is an ambush. No mistakes, understood?"

No mistakes. How often had Malcolm heard that? "Aye, Sir. We'll be ready. Anything else, Sir?"

Archer shook his head and in spite of himself was amused by his Second Officer's rigid stance. "No Malcolm. I'm going to get a little more sleep, and I will see you at shift change. Dismissed." Malcolm snapped to attention before exiting the Captain's quarters. Archer nearly chuckled and wondered how Reed had managed to last so long under Archer's command given the Captain's informal manner.

Archer removed his robe and went back to his bed. Porthos was reluctant to surrender the blankets.

The recovery mission was difficult, and in the end little more than a funeral detail. Communications had lost all contact with the _Soweto_ five hours after the first hail, and had been unable to re-establish any connection. As _Enterprise _came closer to its target, the sensor readings became clearer, and the tale they told was not pretty. An hour from contact, Malcolm manned the tactical sensors with Archer remaining on the bridge. T'Pol also kept her station. Between the two of them they found massive radiation residuals in the vicinity of the _Soweto's_ last transmission. The Romulans had in fact resorted to nuclear weapons, and in fact the three Romulan ships' hulls found nearly atomized near the Earth _ND_ Class vessel were of an older variety which had been appearing more frequently along the lines as the war took its toll on the Romulan infrastructure: An elongated cylinder with a curving wing down to nacelles running parallel on either side. T'Pol confirmed the debris was consistent with those vessels, and the weaponry more archaic. _Enterprise's_ polarized hull would only hold the radiation at bay for a short while, necessitating a hasty rescue of any survivors.

It was not necessary. No one on _Soweto_ had survived the resultant exposure, and the heavily shielded boarding party found Commander Watts still in the command chair, having lost his struggle for life hours earlier. Captain Archer held a short ceremony at a safe distance, and used photonic torpedoes to scuttle the smaller ship, consecrating the remains of her crew to the space for which they had fought. With the Captain's permission, Malcolm took Gamma Shift off having spent so much time on the bridge for this mission. Archer ordered _Enterprise_ back to Galorndon Core, and the ranking officers retired from the bridge.

In his quarters, Malcolm found sleep was elusive. He kept seeing Dennis Watts on the screen, then Watts' body as it looked when they found it, still sitting upright, and then the way he had looked that night in Malay those years ago, betrayal marring his face.

After at least two hours of not sleeping, Malcolm decided to get something to eat. Perhaps his body had become too accustomed to the third shift, and wanted what would normally be lunch for him. The arbitrary nature of time on a starship struck him as he dressed (in full duty uniform of course) and went to the mess hall.

Malcolm settled in for a cup of tea and a scone and watched the stars warp by. His mind was still a jumble of memories, and he was distracted enough not to hear someone else enter until a soft voice said, "Hey stranger! Can I join you?"

Malcolm, slightly startled, looked up to see Lieutenant Hoshi Sato there. She was not in uniform, but rather a pair of sweatpants and tank-top. Malcolm did not think she had come from the gym though. On her tray was a small bowl of yakisoba and water.

"Oh, hello Hoshi. Please, join me. I doubt I will be very inspiring company however." He sipped his tea as she sat and arranged her food for eating. She watched him for a few moments, and must have noticed him slipping back into his thoughts.

"Malcolm, Byrne told me that the man from _Soweto_ knew you. Were you friends?" she asked.

Malcolm, almost out of character, chuckled dismissively. "I don't know if you can say we were friends. I hadn't spoken to him since we graduated the Academy, and we'd had a…falling out some time before that."

Hoshi looked concerned. "Oh, Malcolm, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Malcolm instinctively began to shut that compartment in his mind down. He was not known for being personable, and was not one to divulge his inner feelings on anything really. He realized though he _was_ in fact carrying some pain; mourning in fact, and hadn't realized he missed Dennis until it was too late to even say good-bye.

"Hoshi. You know sharing my feelings is very difficult for me."

She nodded, "I don't mean to pry, but I am here if you want to talk."

"I do actually." His answer made her look surprised. He should have expected that. "I would like to talk about it, but it isn't easy for me to do that, and this is a deeply personal matter. Can you please promise me your discretion?"

"Of course. You're sure there isn't anyone else you would rather talk to?"

Malcolm thought for a moment, and came to a sad realization. "Hoshi, I don't really have a friend on board. I have peers and subordinates I admire, but since Commander Tucker 'died' I have been very lonely. You have been on _Enterprise_ as long as I have. This is the most personal discussion I have had since we lost Trip."

Malcolm noticed Hoshi seemed to be the one on the verge of tears; not those of the scared girl pitted against the horrors of space she once was, but rather as someone watching a friend suffer. Perhaps Malcolm was wrong to assume he had no friends, but right to talk to Hoshi.

"Malcolm. Please tell me what happened," she said, her noodles forgotten.

Malcolm collected his thoughts for a moment, his own shyness a wall between the words he wanted to say and their actual voicing. Finally, he began to speak.

"It was my second year at the Academy…"

_San Francisco, Earth_

_2142_

"Warp two, Malcolm. The made it to warp two!" Midshipman Mark Latrelle was ecstatic about the scuttlebutt going around the Starfleet Training Academy, and Midshipman Malcolm Reed could not care less. Mark had spent the hour since their last class ranting about a couple of test pilots who stole a prototype warp ship and proved the design stable. Malcolm did not feel he had to remind his friend Mark that there were already Starfleet ships capable of going faster, just with an older engine design. Mark wanted to be an engineer; Malcolm just wanted to serve and really had no idea in what capacity it would be. Family Naval tradition drove him to the service, and aquaphobia drove him to the sea of stars rather than the seas of Earth.

Malcolm did have an objective though. He was leading Mark to the Embarcedero—again—to eat at Koibito's Delight—again—because Maureen was waitressing tonight. Maureen had caught Malcolm's eye quite by accident, as he was just walking by the Japanese restaurant on the waterfront when he saw her serving the tables in front, and immediately went in. For weeks now he had made it a habit to eat there at least every couple of days. He took a seat now on the veranda and heard Mark sigh.

"Malcolm, again? Really? Would you please just ask her out so I can get a steak?" Regardless, Mark sat, and in a moment the auburn haired Maureen, with just a hint of Gaelic lilt to her voice, was taking their order.

"Hi guys, good to see you again! I guess the Academy's not keeping you too busy?"

"Well, it's very important work we do, right Malcolm?" Mark was working to get Malcolm into the conversation. This was Malcolm's problem. He would get to his objective, see Maureen, and just stop talking.

"Uh, yes. Important. Um. Can I just have some rice?"

Maureen finished taking the order and went back to her rounds with a smile. Mark shook his head.

"Malcolm. Buddy. You have to talk to her. That's how you get her to go out with you. Look at you: You hate fish, don't you? You only ever have rice. You're wasting away for this girl, Malcolm, ask her out!"

"Mark, I…Look, you are a very sociable type. I'm just reserved. I'm English, it's how we are."

"She sounds Irish, you don't think you'll make her mad and put an end to the whole 'United Earth' deal, do you?"

Malcolm smiled. "Well, at least she's not Australian."

Laughing, Mark said, "See? I knew there was at least one humorous bone somewhere in you. Too bad you wasted it on me." Maureen returned with their drinks and was about to walk away when Mark stopped her.

"Hey, Maureen; can I ask you something?" She turned back, her eyes meeting Malcolm's for a moment before looking back to Mark.

"Sure," she said, smiling.

"Would you go out with my friend here?" His bluntness took Malcolm by surprise, and he began to stammer a protest when he noticed the look of confusion on Maureen's face.

"Wow. Um, I'm not trying to be a bitch, but I didn't think I was his type."

Now Mark was confused. "Why?"

Maureen blushed redder than her hair. "I thought he was trying to get his hetero friend hooked up. I thought you were going to ask me out."

The ensuing silence signaled the end of dinner.

Later, Mark and Malcolm walked back to the Academy campus. Malcolm was feeling pretty dejected.

"She thinks I'm gay; why does she think I'm gay?'

"Malcolm, she didn't dislike you, just had the wrong impression. You shouldn't have excused yourself; you should have asked her for the opportunity to change her impression!"

Malcolm was not amused. "It isn't funny, Mark. I act like I respect a girl and it makes me gay. I respect men too, why doesn't that make me hetero?"

Mark stopped him. The other cadets coming from downtown walking behind them went around barely glancing. "Cadet Reed, you don't just act like you respect girls, you act like they scare the shit out of you. Hell, you nearly do that with men too. It took us a month of being roommates before you would tell me the light from my desk lamp hit you in the face when you slept. You got a pair Malcolm, grab them." Mark glanced at his chronometer. "I have to go, there's a study session in the hanger tonight for subspace variance, and they say Lt. Tucker might be there to talk about the NX-Beta." He looked concerned at his friend. "Don't go back to your rack; get out, hit a bar, and hit on someone for the love of…love!" He patted Malcolm on the shoulder and went on.

Malcolm initially planned to ignore him and return to his room, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought maybe Mark was right. He wasn't going to find a girl in his bed unless he first found one in the outside world. He turned on his heel into the flow of Cadets until he found the current of older cadets streaming sideways. Despite the clouds gathering over the bay, they were heading toward the mono to Mill Valley.

They were heading to the 602.

On Friday and Saturday nights, it was rare to find a cadet in the 602 Club; typically, that was when the active duty pilots and officers of the Earth Starfleet met and chatted, and in some cases plotted as they drank. On a weeknight like this particular Wednesday though, the Cadets were practicing the social mores of a full officer. It was still rare however to see anyone who was not at least a Midshipman Fourth Class—in their last year at the Academy, and just a commission away from being an actual officer in Starfleet. Tonight though, Malcolm Reed as a Midshipman Second Class was present and accounted for.

The Club was crowded, and already he could see the Cadets present had segregated into branch training. Pilots and command with the gold slashes on their sleeves had gathered around a nul-g pool table, while operations' red stripes took the bar. There were a few blue stripes, though most of those were a little older, bringing their previous medical or science expertise with them when they entered the Academy. Malcolm started to feel a little self-conscious about the grey stripe on his sleeve; he would be expected to pick a branch specialization by the end of the academic year, and was still unclear as to his future. Realizing that self-consciousness was what was holding him back though, he steeled himself, and unabashedly walked up to the bar to order a drink.

Tending bar was another auburn haired woman with a kind, smiling face. Malcolm began to wonder if the universe was playing tricks on him. This one had a mass of curls on her head though, and was more boisterous than Maureen. She saw Malcolm, and was about to ask what he wanted when a burly cadet with more hair than Malcolm thought was in regs interrupted.

"Alfred? Gavin? Bart? Javier?" He slurred each name a bit and had obviously spent some time in the bar this evening. The woman shook her head before responding.

"Nope, nope, most certainly not, and no," she replied, leaving the burly Cadet to the alcohol enforced sounds of exaggerated pity from his friends.

"What can I get you?" she finally asked Malcolm. He ordered a pint of brown ale.

"Why the names?" he asked as she was drawing his beer from the tap. She brought it to him and swiped his thumbprint to start a tab.

"I've picked out the names of my kids; first person to pick them out too gets to marry me." Malcolm almost choked on his first sip.

"Really?"

"Yup," she replied, waiting for him to guess; she knew he would, they always did.

"Winston," he finally said. Her lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened, and for just a moment Malcolm patted himself on the back for his decision to come to the 602 that night. Then she smiled.

"Nope. But close though, you should keep trying."

As the night went on, Malcolm did make a few more attempts, but mostly he drank. As he did he found himself opening up, more social, talking to people, and even starting some conversations with some females. He was just getting comfortable with a diminutive black haired girl with deep, deep brown eyes when the burly red stripe from earlier interrupted.

"I know there isn't really some second-classman nosing around my date, is there?" Malcolm was taken aback, and the ale gave him a bravado he didn't always feel.

"Perhaps your date was tired of you trying to marry yourself off to the bartender." The older cadet didn't see the humor in that statement, and was even less amused that his date did and laughed. He put a beefy hand in Malcolm's chest and shoved. It would likely not be difficult for Malcolm to catch himself, but the amount of beer he had consumed had a detrimental effect on his sense of balance.

Luckily, someone caught him. Malcolm looked back to see a young blonde man, steadying Malcolm after his short flight, and wearing a grey stripe on his sleeve as well.

"Mister Hendorff! Always picking on the little guys. Is it just you, or a family tradition?" Hendorff approached Malcolm's benefactor.

"Mouthy junior cadets in bars should always beware a Hendorff; even you, Watts." The menacing Hendorff toward over the two younger cadets.

"How about we grey-stripes buy you another Slusho and get the hell away from your girl; is that all right?" There was a moment's more tense negotiation, and in a moment Hendorff was back at the bar with his friends—and the dark haired girl—and Malcolm was ushered to a table with the blonde man named Watts.

"Dennis M. Watts, pleasure to meet you," he said as they sat with new drinks supplied by the lovely bartender. Malcolm watched her walk away.

"Her name's Ruby, by the way. Maybe that will help you guess the kids' names." Malcolm looked back at Watts.

"Has it helped you?"

"I wasn't really trying," Watts said, taking a long pull from a stout. Malcolm toasted him with his fresh brown ale.

"Malcolm Reed," he said.

"What brings you to the 602 tonight, Malcolm? Surely you weren't looking for trouble?"

"I was," confided Malcolm, "but not of that particular variety."

"Ah yes," Dennis said, "hoping for a little company. Well, this is not always the best place for we who are barely more than plebes, but occasionally you might get lucky." The two men toasted. As they talked, Malcolm found Dennis's charisma to be the type that would likely save him from any situation like their run-in with Hendorff.

They talked about San Francisco. "No, really it's like a ten minute walk from here. Little Korea meets little Russia, and the Vulcan embassy is right there. You get little old Korean ajimoni screaming obscenities at babooshkas across the street while Vulcan diplomats look on in, well, the closest thing to horror a Vulcan diplomat would be likely to show." Malcolm laughed and shared his own stories about the ever more cosmopolitan city, and they had another round.

They talked about class. "I just don't know," Malcolm said. "I'm looking for a specialty, and I just haven't found that one thing that makes me say, 'this; this is what I want to do in outer space.'"

Dennis snorted a short laugh. "What?" Malcolm asked.

"You actually said, 'outer space.' I find that absolutely adorable." They again laughed, and they had another round.

They talked about home. "My Dad looked at me and said he knew Earth was never going to be big enough for what I wanted to do with my life. I was nine," Dennis said, "Do you know how much that inflates a kid's ego?"

Malcolm's light mood darkened a bit. "Not really. My father was not particularly enthusiastic about my choice of services. I come from a long tradition of Naval men." Dennis did not speak, prompting Malcolm to continue. "My father is very much 'old, working class England.' He could just as easily be some character from a 2D pre-War BBC show as a modern retired Navy Chief. He used to tell me stories all the time of him and his mates on ships, patrolling the south seas—where he and Mum eventually settled, by the way—as the UE tried to clean up fallout, and dealing with the anarchist pirates there. Then he'd tell me stories of his father trying to rebuild Europe, and then five or six generations back to defending the home islands from Nazi U-Boats two hundred years ago." Then Malcolm did laugh, and he knew had must have had a hell of a lot to drink when he was able to joke about this very open wound. "Apparently there is a Reed at the bottom of every ocean on God's green Earth." Dennis laughed with him, and they had another round.

Malcolm had no idea what time it was when he and Dennis staggered to a taxi stand to get a ride back to the Presidio. He did know however that the ominous clouds that had earlier been gathering over the bay had mustered themselves into a full-fledged rainstorm and were now dumping water at the Academy gate, which the cab could not enter. Malcolm could barely walk on his own, and though Dennis had matched him beer for beer, he seemed to be in far better condition and supported the inebriated Malcolm back to his quarters. By the time they arrived, they were soaking wet.

"Shhhhhh," Malcolm said in a voice that was hushed only in intent and not really in volume. "My roommate's sleeping!" Dennis ignored his protests and all but carried him to the bed. Malcolm sat down heavily, and was glad not to have to try any more walking. Dennis sat down next to him, providing the only support that kept Malcolm from toppling even from his seated position.

"Malcolm, are you going to be ok?" Dennis asked.

Malcolm nodded, "Oh yes, just cold, need to not be cold." He began pulling at his wet jumpsuit. Dennis helped him, and in a moment he was down to his fleet issued blue skivvies.

"You're a good kind man," Malcolm half-whispered to Dennis.

Dennis grinned. "I'm not that kind. Sometimes I take advantage of drunken cadets I think are adorable." Then he leaned in and kissed Malcolm.

Malcolm was taken by surprise, and pulled back. He seemed in his mind to be suddenly sober. "I'm, wait, Dennis, I'm not, uh…" Malcolm couldn't get the words out. He was confused. Only a few hours ago he was protesting the idea he might not be hetero, but now here he was drunk in his underwear sitting on his bed with another man.

And realizing he enjoyed it.

Perhaps it was the fact he had already been so lonely. Perhaps it was how close they were, realizing he had only been this close to another person—regardless of gender—in the last two years when he was training in hand to hand combat. Perhaps it was just how damn charming Dennis was. Regardless, Malcolm put his hand on Dennis's shoulder and leaned in for another kiss.

Malcolm had been with women; he was not a virgin. Somewhere in his mind, some part of him noticed the subtle differences between how he had experienced intimacy previously, and how he experienced it now. The feeling of Dennis's stubble against his cheek; the strength in Dennis's arms as he pushed or pulled; the way Dennis touched Malcolm as if he knew the territory, having a similar body himself.

Somewhere else, there was still a voice—remarkably like his father's—that told him this was all wrong.

He was too engaged, too lonely to care.

"Malcolm, you're going to be late for class."

Malcolm was sleeping heavily then he heard Mark Latrelle's voice warn him he needed to wake. He was slowly allowing consciousness to come to him when he heard another voice.

"Malcolm, you need to move your arm so I can get up." This brought Malcolm to full wakefulness. Dennis Watts was there, entwined with Malcolm in his sheets, naked. Mark stood over them both in uniform, having obviously been awake for some time.

"I, uh, what time is it?" Malcolm asked feebly as he and Dennis sorted through the clothes on the floor to dress. Dennis chuckled as they traded the wrong t-shirt back to one another.

"It's 0830; I covered for you at PT formation, but I'm not telling Captain Johansen why you can't come to astrophysics." Malcolm muttered an embarrassed 'thanks' as he dressed. Dennis was already dressed and extended his hand to Mark.

"Hi. Dennis Watts, nice to meet you." Mark took his hand.

"Mark Latrelle, my pleasure, and I am sure his too." Dennis chuckled and smiled his typical winning smile.

"Malcolm, I hope I will see you later, ok?" He was not awkward, nor reserved, but he did not reach out to Malcolm either, protecting the latter from any more embarrassment. In a moment Dennis was out the door.

Mark watched Malcolm try to straighten his uniform before giving up and pulling another jumpsuit out of the dresser. Mark was smirking.

"What?" Malcolm asked, perhaps a little more sharply than he intended.

"Nothing. Well, except that I think it was just twelve hours ago you were pretty vehemently protesting your orientation."

"I don't need your judgment…" Mark interrupted Malcolm.

"And you don't have it," Mark said, his smile gone, replaced with earnestness. "Malcolm, the only person who didn't see this coming was you. If you connected with…?"

"Dennis."

"…Dennis, then great. You're at Starfleet Academy, not an English finishing school. Are you going to call him later?"

"I don't know," Malcolm said, pulling a comb through his hair.

"You should. He seems charming. He'll balance out how goddamn morose you are all the time." Mark turned to go to the door as Malcolm finished up.

"I'm going to get a coffee before class. I'll grab you one and see you there." He opened the door as Malcolm was slipping on boots. "Oh, and Malcolm; when I said 'grab a pair' I actually meant yours!" Mark barely got the door shut before the boot Malcolm hurled hit it.

Before retrieving his footwear, Malcolm thought for a moment. Then, for the first time in a long time, he just smiled and laughed to himself, actually happy.

As weeks went by, Mark Latrelle actually became very pleased that Malcolm Reed and Dennis Watts were together. First, Dennis was actually a really charismatic and interesting man. He was in fact smart and funny, and Mark enjoyed the team the three of them made. Sure, Malcolm was still a bit of a stuffed shirt, but as Malcolm had himself pointed out, he was English. In public, Malcolm maintained a respectful distance from Dennis, and Mark had to wonder how much of that was Malcolm still coming to terms with this relationship. Dennis, for his part, never forced anything on Malcolm, which meant that to most outside observers, these three just looked like any other set of young male cadets out to have a good time.

That defined the second thing Mark loved about having Dennis around. Dennis naturally drew attention, particularly from women who appreciated the six foot two, blonde haired, blue eyed Adonis who laughed easily and seemed unattached. Mark would watch in wonder as some lovely young woman, perhaps a cadet, perhaps a local, would hover over to talk to Dennis, and find herself pulled into his orbit. Then—and Mark could never figure out how Dennis did it—but the man would pull some verbal slight-of-hand and suddenly Mark was the object of the young woman's attention rather than Dennis.

Secretly, Mark believed Dennis was getting Mark hooked up so often so he and Malcolm could have the barracks room to themselves at night. Whatever reservations Malcolm had about Dennis in public, he had seen evidence that Malcolm was in no way reserved when he and Dennis were alone. If Dennis wanted to keep sending Mark home with beautiful women so he and Malcolm could have time alone, Mark didn't mind at all.

It was late October when Dennis first breached the subject of where everyone would go for the end of year holiday break. It was Earth military tradition that a week on either side of the New Year would be a holiday, given that most cultures had some major holiday in or near that time frame. Mark mentioned he was going to Brazil for the holiday. He preferred to spend New Years somewhere more Summer-like than San Francisco. Malcolm said he was obligated to go to his parents' house in Malaysia. Each year they had a very traditional Christmas and New Years celebration, and he was—despite the likely discomfort—going to enjoy talking to his Mum at least. Dennis said nothing.

Malcolm did not notice, but the closer they got to break, the less Dennis said. The only hint came one evening in November. Mark was elsewhere enjoying the company of a Berkeley Art Major while Dennis and Malcolm lay together in bed. Dennis's head rested on Malcolm's chest as they quietly enjoyed each other's presence. Malcolm directly asked, "Dennis, what are you doing on break next month?"

Dennis looked up at Malcolm with a mischievous smile. "Special surprise for a loved one." He refused to say more.

The last day before break at any Military school is aways a pure and unadulterated example of sheer pandemonium. Students, regardless of their year group, were ready to evacuate as if there were hoards of Nausicaan pirates storming the Presidio with plasma cannons. The shuttles were flying to larger transit centers non-stop to allow the deluge of cadets to be on their way.

Dennis and Malcolm were in the same line, and with approved leaves had been waiting for hours for their turn to join the Exodus.

"Are you going to be OK seeing your Dad?" Dennis asked.

Malcolm thought for a moment and then nodded. "Yes. As incorrigible as he is, he is my father, and I would like to think somewhere between his Navy experience and my Academy experience we can find some kind of common ground."

They sat quietly together for a while longer, that respectful distance between them.

"Have you told them about me?"

The question hung heavily between them. Malcolm could not imagine how his parents would respond to the idea that he was in a relationship with a man. Malcolm was sure his father would be as conservative on this issue as any other, particularly after Aunt Sherry. Malcolm intended to talk to his parents during this visit about Dennis. "Not yet," was the only answer he gave Dennis.

"Are you still uncomfortable with us?"

Honestly, Malcolm did feel a bit uncomfortable; at times it seemed his feelings for Dennis was like a form of madness. Dennis, he was sure, would take his silence to mean Malcolm was uncomfortable with Dennis. However, Malcolm realized he would likely be uncomfortable in any relationship, would always want some form of discretion. He did not mention this to Dennis. Dennis was about to speak when a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing another set of cadet transports. His was among them. Dennis grabbed his bag and started to leave.

"I'll see you Malcolm. Be safe." He walked away. Malcolm looked after him for a moment.

"Dennis, wait!" Malcolm called. Dennis stopped and turned, his face expectant. Malcolm came to him, and without another word took Dennis's face into his hands and very passionately kissed him. Malcolm lost track of how long they held the kiss, but when it was done, it settled into a loving embrace. When that was done and they pulled apart, Malcolm noticed a single tear on Dennis's face above the smile.

"Thank you. See you soon." Dennis turned and walked away.

Malcolm looked around to see who had noticed, expecting in some way stunned faces at the display the two men had put on. He looked from person to person.

No one seemed to have noticed. No stares, no derision, no judgment; just cadets walking around these two other cadets who were parting for the holidays. No one here cared.

At the moment, Malcolm truly believed his choice to join Starfleet was the right one.

The low-orbit shuttle began its decent over Malaysia, arriving in Kuala Lampur at about two in the afternoon. Malcolm was relieved to see that Malaysian UE membership meant there were no customs checks coming from North America, as he still had a four-hour maglev ride across the Malay Peninsula before he would arrive in Kota Bharu. Malcolm found himself more at ease heading home this time than he had in several years. As the restored rain forests of Malay sped past the window of the maglev, he was at peace.

It was nearly eight at night before Malcolm reached his parents' modest home in the Bachok suburb, looking east out into the South China Sea. Malcolm's father had of course decided to settle near water, and enjoyed days with Malcolm's sister Madeline sailing in their small boat. Malcolm and his father had never enjoyed that together.

Malcolm pressed the door chime and smiled as he waited for the door to open. It was in fact Madeline who opened the door, a bit of an amused smile on her face. They faced each other for a silent moment that became more awkward as it went.

"Um, hello?" Malcolm finally said, breaking the silence. Madeline finally reached out to hug him.

"Oh Malcolm, you don't know, do you?"

At once Malcolm expected some tragedy; had something happened to his parents? He had exchanged a letter with his mother only a… god, had it been four months since they talked? "Know what?" he asked, concerned and stepping through the door with Madeline. He heard a familiar voice from the living room he could not quite put into context with his location. Madeline told him.

"Your…friend Dennis is here."

After a few moments, Malcolm joined the group in the living room. Stuart, Malcolm's father, sat in a recliner that seemed to be positioned like the command chair on the bridge of a ship. Everyone had to face it to talk to anyone else in the room. Around the edges sat Malcolm and Madeline, while nearer in a similar chair was Stuart's brother and Malcolm's uncle Archie. Also near was Dennis, who was engaging Archie and Madeline in spirited conversation as Malcolm's mother Mary darted in and out of the room ensuring drinks and snacks were refreshed. Really, only Malcolm and Stuart were quiet. Each time Malcolm looked at him, he saw Stuart's eyes glancing from Dennis to Malcolm. When Malcolm and his father's eyes met, Malcolm was unable to hold his father's gaze and would look away. This went on for an unbearable hour before Stuart announced to no one and everyone he was going to bed. Archie excused himself to one of the guest rooms not long after.

Malcolm looked to Dennis. "How did you get here before me?"

Dennis smiled. "I'd been planning this surprise for you for weeks. I got the shuttle pilot going to India to make a maintenance stop in Thailand. Wanted to have a Christmas with you."

"You thought I wanted this kind of surprise, with my family?"

Dennis was a bit taken aback. "I thought you were less concerned with what people thought and more with people you care for. Hell Malcolm, I was doubting this myself until you kissed me at the terminal."

"Shut up!" Malcolm snapped. Dennis's face looked as if Malcolm had slapped him.

Finally Mary came to Malcolm.

"Malcolm, we have your room set up still. Do we need another room for Dennis?" Malcolm looked to her, and then at Dennis who watched him expectantly.

"Let him sleep anywhere," Malcolm said, getting up and heading for his old bedroom without looking back. Mary though saw the pain in his eyes, and in Dennis's.

It was not until breakfast Malcolm really talked to anyone, and still the presence of Dennis was like a light too bright to look at. He studiously avoided Dennis's looks and his questions talking to Madeline instead. Stuart eventually joined them as Mary served tea, coffee, and pastries. Archie could still be heard snoring loudly despite the fact he was on another floor. Mary finally sat and spoke to Malcolm.

"How is the academy going, son?"

"Well," he responded. "I still haven't really found a major, but I am learning a lot, and meeting new people."

"So we see," said Stuart.

"What do you mean?" asked Dennis. This was it; Malcolm knew the confrontation that had to have been building since Dennis knocked on the door was about to happen. It did not really though. Stuart only said one thing, and again left the group.

"It seems sometimes you don't get the son you want."

The words fell on Malcolm as if dropped from the sky. Perhaps he should have confronted his Father. Perhaps he should have considered years of snide remarks and unmet expectations and called Stuart to task. He did not.

He turned on Dennis.

"How could you do this to me?"

Dennis looked at him, surprised. "Me? I just wanted to spend the holiday with you and your family!"

"You didn't think!" Malcolm said shouting now, so rare for the man so usually reserved. "I've told you how difficult it has been with my father, how hard it always is with him! How could you think this would be all right?"

Dennis looked down, abashed. Quietly, Mary and Madeline left the room. Dennis and Malcolm were alone.

"Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly, Malcolm," Dennis said. "Maybe I thought this would be a way for you to confront your father and show him you can make your own decisions." He stood up and came around the table, putting his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Maybe I thought together we could tell him what a fine man you are…" Malcolm pushed Dennis's hand away and stood up, the force of which knocked over the chair he was in.

"Together? You walked in hours before I got here and told my parents—without talking to me about it—that we were gay lovers! How is that together?" Now Dennis seemed to be angry as well.

"Really Malcolm? Gay lovers? Is that the label you want to put on this? I was thinking 'partners' or 'a couple.' I guess I should have been thinking '_gay_ partners' or '_gay _couple.' Dammit Malcolm, why can't it just be about two people who love each other? Why can't it just be who we are, and not what we are called?"

Malcolm turned on him. "Because it's not how I was raised! It's not who I am! My father has a sister named Sherry, she lives with Rose, my two 'spinster aunts.' That's what I thought until I was 17 at least; Rose isn't another aunt, she's Sherry's wife, and I wasn't allowed to know until I was almost grown! We still don't tell people that! This is not who I am!"

"Really Malcolm? And with whom have you been happier? With whom have you been more comfortable? How the hell is this not who you are?"

"Because I am not a bloody fag!" Dennis recoiled; Malcolm might as well have punched him in the face. There was so much venom in what Malcolm said and Malcolm realized as it came out it was as if it were not his voice, but that of his father. As if his father had somehow hijacked Malcolm's own mind, set it against itself, and made those words shoot out like bullets from a gun at an enemy.

An enemy that Malcolm knew he in fact loved.

Dennis now cried. It was the first time since they had met that night in the 602 that Malcolm had seen anything but confidence and surety on Dennis's face. Some part of Malcolm wanted to reach out and hold him, shield him against the words Malcolm himself had said. Be he could not. He knew it was too late. Through his tears Dennis looked at Malcolm, no longer the strong loving man, but a hurt soul betrayed by the man he loved.

Dennis spoke quietly. "That's it Malcolm. Destroy everything you touch before it can hurt you. You don't know, do you? You don't know what you have come to mean to me, do you? You have no idea the depth of the feeling I have for you; I loved you Malcolm, and yet this is what you do to me? Next time, just kill me Malcolm, it would hurt my heart less." Dennis turned and left, holding his head high despite his tears. Malcolm heard Dennis gathering his things from the living room where he had slept on the couch, and heard the door close behind him.

Malcolm was alone.

Neither did Malcolm stay at the Reed house following his fight with Dennis. Despite Madeline's protests, Malcolm packed and stopped only once as he headed out the door of his family's home. He looked back to see Archie and Stuart drinking ale. Archie was laughing derisively about something—Malcolm imagined it was about him—and Stuart was again quiet. He met Malcolm's eyes for only a moment, and the disdain was more than Malcolm could stand.

Malcolm never set foot in the house again. For years he would tell people it was because of the disagreement he and his father had over Starfleet. It was not; it was Dennis.

Malcolm returned to his room at the Academy and did little for several days. He slept through Christmas, going over and over in his mind what had happened. He missed Dennis, but there was no way to heal that wound, no way to breach the chasm between them. At last, on New Years he decided to venture out, and found himself at the 602.

The place was mostly empty, but Ruby was there, serving those other lonely souls who had nowhere else to be for the holiday. Malcolm had been at the bar for no more than 20 minutes when he heard Dennis's distinctive laugh. He turned, hoping really to see the tall blonde man coming toward him, reconciliation in his heart. Instead he saw Dennis in the corner, his attention focused on a third year male cadet who seemed to be hanging on Dennis's every word. Malcolm turned back around before Dennis saw him.

Several hours, but only a few nursed beers later, Ruby came to Malcolm to ask if he needed another. Malcolm stopped her.

"Ruby, I am not going to guess your children's names. I am not trying to claim you in holy matrimony for the rest of your days; but it is New Years, and I am lonely, and if you would like, I would offer myself for your company in any way you see fit tonight." Malcolm would never know if it was pity or desire, but Ruby agreed to go home with him. She handed off to another bartender—as the place was nearly empty, the New Year having already passed—and left with Malcolm. On the way out the door his eyes did meet Dennis's. When the club's door closed, it closed between Malcolm and Dennis. Forever.

Malcolm's relationship with Ruby lasted for the rest of his second year. On and off they would keep each other company on lonely nights, though other times he knew she was with other men. Not once did he even attempt a guess at the names of her future children; he knew those children would not be his.

In the spring semester though, he finally found love, direction. It was at the Academy range.

"I am Lt. Commander Harris, and I will be assessing your marksmanship abilities and suitability for the Starfleet Security service. If chosen for this track—and I choose, not you—you will be expected on starships to act as master at arms, head of internal security, and shipborne weapons expert. It will not be easy, but should you qualify you may in fact open your future to other opportunities in service to Starfleet and Earth."

Malcolm stood with a dozen other students, including Mark Latrelle. Mark showed no interest, but Malcolm found himself fascinated by the array of weapons displayed behind the tall, greying officer named Harris. Some dated back to the beginning of last century. Others though were state of the art, including the EM-33 plasma pulse pistol. After two hours of safety and marksmanship instruction, Malcolm was at last allowed on the firing line with the pistol. Harris himself stood over him.

"All right Cadet. Don't put your whole finger on the trigger. Just the tip of your index finger, and when you pull, don't pull, squeeze straight back. That keeps the weapon on target. Sight with your dominant eye, and be careful; when transitioning to other targets, you will have to get a feel for the particle drift the EM produces. It can alter the course of your round." Having listened intently, Malcolm held the pistol in his right hand, and then cupped his right hand with his left to provide more stability. He sighted down the top of the pistol, his body turned three-quarters away from the target, a humanoid silhouette. "Take a breath, and let it half way out, then fire," Harris said. Malcolm squeezed the trigger as instructed. His aim was true, and he struck the target center of mass, a chest shot had it been an actual person.

"Good," Harris said. "Now do it again."

He did. He was a natural, and just as Harris might have never seen a cadet who took to weapons so quickly, nor had Malcolm ever felt so comfortable with anything.

_Almost anything…_ A quick vision of Dennis flashed in his mind. He dismissed it and went back to shooting.

Harris provided him with pistols and rifles both modern and archaic. Malcolm felt the static charge of a Haynes plasma rifle, and the violent recoil of a Kalashnikov projectile rifle. He fired pistols that could have been from some other planet beyond Earth, and pistols that would not have been out of place in the hands of Wyatt Earp. Harris was impressed. He handed the marksmanship class off to another instructor and stayed with Malcolm the rest of the day. "Let's see how you are with explosives."

Malcolm proved excellent with ordinance.

"Cadet Reed, given some training, I think you're going to be the type of security officer who will destroy everything you touch."

If Malcolm flinched at that choice of phrase, Harris did not notice.

In the spring of 2145, Ensign Malcolm Reed received his commission and graduated from Starfleet Academy. Madeline did appear, briefly, to congratulate him, but no other family bothered. Malcolm had received a text on his comm piece to see Commander Harris before reporting to his berth aboard the _Lexington._ He was heading toward Harris's office when he nearly bumped into another graduate.

It was Dennis Watts.

"Hello Malcolm."

Malcolm stared for a moment, and finally found his voice. "Hello Dennis."

"I just wanted to congratulate you. Top of the class for security, that's no mean feat with a hard-ass like Harris running the department."

Malcolm smiled slightly. "He's been something of a mentor to me."

They stood quietly for a moment. Finally it was Dennis who broke the silence.

"Malcolm, I'm sorry. I've had a lot of time to think about what happened. A lot of time to recognize that I went too far too quickly with your family, and I was counting on my charm to smooth over anything that happened. I was wrong. I couldn't get through to your father, and I hurt you trying."

Malcolm held himself with his usual reserve, but acknowledged what Dennis was saying. "I too am sorry Dennis. Very sorry." Dennis attempted to embrace Malcolm, but it ended instead with the two men shaking hands.

"Well," Dennis said, "the fleet's not that big. I'll see you out there Malcolm, among the stars; you know, in 'outer space.'" He laughed. "Maybe we can catch up then."

Malcolm smiled a small smile. "Maybe we can."

_Mess Hall, NX-01 Enterprise_

_February, 2158_

"But I didn't see him out among the stars. Not once. I didn't write to him, or video him, or even try to find him. I never again spoke to him until two nights ago when we received that hail from Soweto. He asked me to help him, and I didn't stay on with him, I just told him to wait. And I never reached him."

Hoshi was in tears now, and her hand was on Malcolm's as he finished telling her what had so troubled his heart. "Oh, poor sweet Malcolm."

"There have been other women since then; a few. But never close. And no men. No one really to share with, no one really to be more than a pleasant distraction. But I lost him because I couldn't realize it should never have been about man or woman or him or her, or anything so fleeting; it should have been about two people who found love, and I never realized it until that hail, until it was too late and there was a trail of acquaintances, but no real friends or lovers. I never let them close because Dennis was right; I destroy everything I touch."

Hoshi felt the pain radiating from him. "Malcolm, you keep us all so distant, but you shouldn't. You won't destroy us, I promise you. But it seems like your isolation is going to destroy you. Don't let it, Malcolm. Let someone in." And with that, she leaned forward and gently brushed her lips across his, then again kissed him with more contact and care. His face was wet with her tears when she pulled away.

Hoshi stood and looked down on him. "Let someone in Malcolm, before it destroys you." She walked away. If she wanted him to follow, Malcolm took no note of it. Malcolm sat thinking only of Dennis. When the door to the mess closed behind her, he realized he sat alone. Then he considered what she had said, and only then did he answer her.

"I can't."

Outside, stars drifted by, separated by unimaginable distances. Malcolm knew how they felt.

The End


End file.
